Repetition. Repetition. Repetition.

I fear being connect to the past, But I find my life revolving in cycles. It was four years ago I first came to a place like this. Four days there, now three here, both at the end of February. The cycles repeat. I hurt, I heal, I hurt again, and there’s no way to stop it. Maybe I like it this way, who knows? “Who is John Galt?” Questions there are no answers to. They aren’t meant to be asked. But I can’t help it, it’s who I am. So I’ll ask my questions over and over. And I’ll repeat my cycles over and over. Until the end of time.